


long roads

by itsybitsyicarus



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Hurt with no Comfort, Other, description of illness, description of injury, heavily implied sasodei, it's fuckin sad bro idk what to tell you, kisaita if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 09:28:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17557769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsybitsyicarus/pseuds/itsybitsyicarus
Summary: “Do you remember being on the battlefield at all?  Any contact with corpses?”He remembered bodies tossed like old dolls across the landscape, and the stench of rot in his father’s clothes.  He remembered a soft choir of moans echoing through the trees.  “Yes.”“Then I think I know what we’re dealing with.”  Sasori put down the clipboard, letting his pen clank against the darkwood desk, “Let me listen to your lungs.  Turn so I can access your back.”(as itachi gets sick, kisame convinces him to visit sasori for his opinion)





	long roads

**Author's Note:**

> someday i'll write something that isn't medical-based but today is not that day.
> 
> this takes place shortly before the start of shippuden. canon complaint.

Itachi let his eyes wander over bookshelves filled with bottles, biology texts, surgical tools, and the occasional skeletal model. Against the furthest wall was a single bed, bearing only thin, white sheets and a lone pillow. The entire space, including the desk off to the side, was without dust or any sign of dirt. It was impeccably sterile.

“You have a clinic,” Itachi observed monotonously.

“I needed one. Ten Akatsuki members and I’m the only one who can sew a wound shut properly.” Sasori replied as he pulled some gloves over his hands. Itachi could hear the slight clatter of wood as he did. “You know, Konan neglected to mention this part of the job when she recruited me.”

“She must not have known your skill at the time. We only come to you because we trust your expertise.”

“Interesting, considering I mostly operate on corpses. Take off your cloak and sit on the bed over there.”

Itachi did as he was told and folded his Akatsuki cloak neatly on the bed before sitting down, letting the soles of his feet rest on the floor. He watched Sasori as he flipped through some paperwork on the desk, eventually slotting a page into a clipboard. 

Itachi didn't see Sasori's true form often. He knew that Hiruko was a mere shell ever since he first activated his sharingan in Sasori's presence, and although the puppet master was clever enough to know that Itachi saw through him, he usually elected to stay inside of Hiruko anyway. Only during injury, sickness, or those rare times he visited the workshop did Itachi see Sasori's real face. He looked so young, and so tired.

“When was this clinic built?” Itachi asked, “I don't recall seeing you make it.”

“It was shortly after Orochimaru left. This used to be a part of his quarters, actually, but I repurposed it. Now Deidara and I have to share some space in the workshop.”

“Do you mind sharing space?”

“It's worth it, given how often I play doctor. Tell me your symptoms.”

Itachi sighed. If not for Kisame’s worry, he wouldn’t be bothering Sasori with this in the first place. “A persistent cough,” he said, “which is often bloody. Chest pain. The occasional fever. Night sweats.”

Without looking up from his clipboard, Sasori asked, “Appetite?”

“Weak.”

“I can tell.” Sasori said. Apparently his weight loss was quite visible. “Any joint pain?”

“Some, I suppose. My back and shoulders.”

“Hematuria? Blood in the urine?”

“No.”

“Hm. Your worsening vision is due to the sharingan, correct?” At that, Sasori finally looked up from the clipboard, giving Itachi a knowing gaze from under his eyelashes.

“I...don’t remember telling anyone about that.”

“I pay attention. How long have you had a cough, whether or not it’s been bloody?”

Too long. During the first few weeks of coughing, Itachi thought he caught a persistent common cold, but no other symptoms appeared. Then the cough became painful, then bloody. “It’s been six months,” he said.

Sasori’s hand paused, and his brow furrowed slightly. Itachi remembered seeing this expression in young genin who were searching their memory for the answer on a test. Instead of lighting up when the answer was found or growing more frustrated when it wasn’t, Sasori’s face eased back into neutrality. “How old are you, Itachi?” Sasori asked.

“21.”

“Young.” Sasori’s eyes fell onto a nearby skeletal model, though he seemed to be looking through it rather than seeking any sort of information from it. “You saw the end of the Third Ninja War. You weren’t old enough to fight, were you?”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Do you remember being on the battlefield at all? Any contact with corpses?”

He remembered bodies tossed like old dolls across the landscape, and the stench of rot in his father’s clothes. He remembered a soft choir of moans echoing through the trees. “Yes.”

“Then I think I know what we’re dealing with.” Sasori put down the clipboard, letting his pen clank against the darkwood desk, “Let me listen to your lungs. Turn so I can access your back.”

Itachi did. Sasori settled in behind him and placed a hand at the center of his back, just behind his diaphragm. The buzz of chakra seeped soundlessly through the air as Sasori called some chakra to his hand, heightening his ability to feel. Itachi didn’t know the details of Sasori’s ability to perceive, but his sharingan picked up that Sasori’s chakra exists as strings rather than veins, and it was easy to assume that Sasori experiences the world through wooden skin. It’s no wonder he needed extra assistance to pick up on minute sensory details. 

“Breathe deeply and slowly until I tell you to stop,” Sasori ordered.

Itachi was never uncomfortable with silence, which made interactions with Sasori a lot easier. They were both at peace with sitting quietly in the workshop, or in caves when they shared missions. This, thankfully, was no different. Itachi had no trouble getting into a meditative breathing rhythm and allowing Sasori to observe. He got through one breath, two, three, four--

And broke into a coughing fit. Rather than backing off when the fit began, Sasori reached around and placed his second hand on the front of Itachi’s chest, applying a small amount of pressure to the diaphragm, and focused. 

Thankfully the fit passed quickly and with minimal blood landing into Itachi’s palm. After he calmed down, Sasori removed his hands and quietly passed him a handkerchief.

The door burst open, breaking the silence.

“Kisame was nice enough to tell me where you were,” Deidara announced, promptly leaning his shoulders against a wall and crossing his arms across his chest. He wasn’t wearing his cloak, but instead sported his usual blue croptop. He always preferred not to have long sleeves dangling in his clay when he was working on a project. Despite this, he still had his detonating clay in the pouches at his sides. Seemed a little unusual for a man who was relaxing for the afternoon. 

“Deidara.” Sasori greeted casually, “Finished that sculpture already?”

“Nope, not quite.”

“Need something?”

“No. I just thought I’d invite myself to the party, yeah?” Deidara punctuated his words by opening his arms in a wide gesture before quickly crossing them again. 

Sasori gave him a look that Itachi might call ‘playful’ if he suspected Sasori ever experienced that emotion. “Because you still don’t trust Itachi,” he said.

“You know me too well, my man. I’d prefer to know when sketchy people are in our workshop. And you’re alone. Recipe for disaster if you ask me.”

“Deidara,” Itachi said, as gently as he could manage, “We’re on the same side.”

“That hasn’t meant much in the past, now, has it? If I were trying to become comrades with someone, I might refrain from, you know, putting them in a genjutsu and belittling their art.”

Sasori’s voice was even and smooth despite Deidara’s energy. “Well, as you can see, I’m in one piece. You may be surprised to hear that I can hold my own and don’t need a damn brat hovering over me when I’m working.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about, my man.”

“It’s fine, Sasori,” Itachi interrupted, “He can stay if he likes.”

He had to gain Deidara’s trust somehow. There was a chance that a peaceful interaction with Sasori as a mediator could help mend their shaky relationship. Itachi didn’t like the idea of being on bad terms with any of the Akatsuki, seeing as he had to trust his life to them on many occasions. 

Deidara seemed to like the decision, and grinned gleefully at his partner.

“Ugh. Fine.” Sasori said, “Stay if it makes you feel better.”

Deidara slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, solidifying his spot in the room. With a wrist balanced on his knee and his head against the wall, he seemed pretty comfortable in the clinic. Itachi suspected that he spent a lot of time here.

“Anyway,” Sasori stood up from the bed and walked over to the desk, where he left his clipboard. “I believe it’s tuberculosis. The disease was extremely infectious during the war because of increased contact between nations, and it can remain dormant for decades before symptoms appear. Your experiences line up; the coughing, chest pain, fatigue. Joint pain, like you reported in your back and shoulders, is typical when the disease is very developed. Thankfully you have no blood in your urine, which tells me that your kidneys and liver are still unaffected.”

Itachi remembered the disease. He never heard it by name, but he remembered his mother’s paranoia. She washed everything his father wore to battle very thoroughly and insisted on good hygiene. Evidently her efforts were not enough.

“Hey, hold up,” Deidara said as he pushed himself off the floor and hopped behind Sasori, tossing his arms around Sasori’s shoulders. From there, he was able to catch a glimpse at the clipboard. “I think I know about this.”

“Do you?” Sasori asked, his voice mild, “You were an infant during the war.”

“Yeah. But it was a problem for a while afterwards too. At least in Iwagakure.” 

Deidara pressed his cheek against Sasori’s, his blue eyes wide and his gaze never leaving the paperwork. Sasori barely reacted to the touch and allowed his partner to do whatever he pleased without even a change in expression. Although Sasori didn’t return the action, the fact that he didn’t push Deidara off or scold him for being distracting seemed like the closest thing to permission that Sasori would ever give. Itachi, who has barely seen those two do anything besides argue, found himself staring.

Suddenly, Deidara’s eyes rose to meet Itachi’s, and then hardened into a glare. He’s been caught.

The moment that Deidara’s hands left Sasori’s shoulders and headed towards the clay pouches on his waist, Sasori grabbed one of his wrists and halted him. “Don’t,” Sasori said, and the order seemed to be enough. Although Deidara’s lips were still curled into a snarl, he stayed put. He even rested a hand back on Sasori’s neck.

“So, Itachi,” Sasori said, making a point by moving forward, “Treatment exists but takes six to eight months to complete. Since you seem to be in a developed stage of the illness, let’s hope we have the time. We’ll start you off immediately. I’ll give you a isoniazid pill that you need to take on an empty stomach once daily, and if you don’t see improvement in four weeks, I’ll move you up to a daily amikacin injection. If we get to that point, I’ll teach you how to make the injection yourself. I’ll also show Kisame. But to not get too far ahead of myself…”

Sasori gently removed Deidara from himself and walked over to one of the cabinets. It was well-organized, and he didn’t have to rummage much before tossing a pill case in Itachi’s direction. He caught it easily. “This should have four weeks worth of pills for you. I’ll bother Kakuzu for the funds to get more if we decide to continue with the isoniazid. Are you able to check in with me in four weeks?”

“I believe so. We start a mission in two days but it shouldn’t take us longer than 5 days.”

“Perfect. If Pein sends you off on another mission after that, have him speak with me about it. I have one more thing for you.” Sasori pulled a box from one of the lower cabinets and tossed it over as well. “I don’t suspect I can reverse the effects of the sharingan, but perhaps I can buy you some time. That box has some herbs you can put in your tea. I see that you caught the pill case without much trouble, so you must be nearsighted. That herb is supposed to help with distance vision. I keep a steady supply for Deidara.”

“Hm,” Deidara chimed in.

“You didn’t have to do this, Sasori,” Itachi said quietly.

“Hey, it’s your fault your condition has gotten so severe. You should have seen me five months ago. I don’t do charity; this treatment is necessary.”

“Pride is an Uchiha thing,” Deidara smirked, “I’m guessing you don’t have any herbs for that, my man?”

“If I did, I’d be sneaking it into your morning tea, Deidara.”

Itachi smiled and risked a joke. “You don’t strike me as the type for morning tea.”

“He’s terrible in the mornings,” Sasori said casually, “He sounds like he’s ill before tea and breakfast. Still moves like the dead until another 2 hours later.”

“Don’t pretend like that’s not your fault,” Deidara said, “I’d sleep better if I didn’t have to listen to power tools all night. And who could possibly be responsible for that, hm?”

“Beats me. Maybe someone who has work to do.”

With a chuckle, Itachi stood up and tossed his Akatsuki cloak over his shoulders. The pill case and box of herbs were large in his palms, and he wasn’t sure if their presence gave him much hope. With each year Sasuke grew older, their final battle grew nearer and it wouldn’t matter whether or not there’s blood in Itachi’s lungs when he takes his last breath. But perhaps he could be more comfortable in the meantime. At the very least, this would get Kisame off of his case. “Thank you, Sasori,” he said, “I appreciate this, and I owe you. Thank you too, Deidara, for allowing me in your workshop. I’ll see you again in four weeks.”

“Thank me by following my instruction,” Sasori replied firmly, and Deidara remained silent.

After Itachi closed the door to the clinic and made his way through the workshop, the muffled voices of the two partners bounced around the corners of the room. “If you’re going to be jealous,” Sasori said, “maybe you could at least try to be subtle about it.”

“What?!”

“He stared at us for maybe a few seconds and you were ready to pounce. If you don’t want to be looked at, don’t do something that invites stares.”

Itachi exited the workshop, a smile tugging at his lips, and left the two to argue amongst themselves. 

******

“You’ll want to change the injection site with every dose to prevent scars and other skin irritations, so I’ll show you three locations; the upper arm, hip, and thigh,” Sasori explained while Kisame listened intently. Itachi, despite making eye contact, found his mind wandering elsewhere. He scanned the clinic, his gaze eventually settling on a skeletal model. Sasori’s gloved hands on his leg were cold. “For the thigh, we’ll be inserting into the rectoris femoris. While holding the syringe with your dominant hand, use your other hand to press on and pull the skin slightly upwards. Then, insert the needle at a 90 degree angle. Let go of the skin but hold the syringe in place. Pull back on the plunger to make sure you didn’t hit a blood vessel. If you did, then you’d see blood. If that happens, do not make an injection. Dispose of the needle and try again.”

“At a different site, I imagine?” Kisame asked.

“Yes. So long as it’s an inch or two from the last injection, it’ll be fine.”

Itachi’s eyes wandered the clinic, and his eyes momentarily met with Deidara’s from where he was sitting on the floor. There was no way the young bomber could actually see what Sasori was demonstrating from his angle. He took no real interest in the topic at hand. He was only there because of his distrust of Itachi.

“Then,” Sasori continued, “so long as you know you didn’t hit a blood vessel, you can empty the syringe slowly and pull the needle out from the same angle you inserted it. Note that I’m keeping a finger on either side of the needle to minimize the pull. Your other injection sites would be the deltoid, here,” Sasori placed a hand on the dome of Itachi’s shoulder, to demonstrate, “and along the hip, here.” He touched a single finger to a spot on Itachi’s flank.

“Seems easy enough,” Kisame said.

“It’s very simple. Now, Itachi, this injection will be taking the place of the pill you’ve been taking, which has been ineffective so far. Amikacin has a higher chance for side effects than the isoniazid you’re used to. Pay mind to any vertigo, numbness, tingling, muscle convulsions, headache, or rash and come back to me if it affects your performance in battle.”

“Understood,” Itachi said with a nod.

“Would you happen to know why the pills haven’t been working?” Kisame asked.

“It’s hard to pinpoint exactly,” Sasori said as he took his gloves off and threw them into the nearby trash bin, “There are certain strains of tuberculosis that are more drug resistant than others, but it could also be that the disease is more developed since it went untreated for a while. Either way, the amikacin will likely make a difference. Kakuzu granted us enough doses for the next 2 months.”

“2 months?” Deidara said from the floor. He must have been paying more attention than Itachi thought. “I have to pull the guy’s leg for just two weeks worth of detonating clay, hm.”

“Because he knows you can make it yourself,” Sasori said, “and he didn’t understand that a mission would be keeping you from the sort of base clay you needed. A miscommunication.”

“Still. It would be nice if he’d trust me when I say I need something.”

“I agree.” Sasori replied, “That was very frustrating. At least he understood the importance of this medicine. Before you leave, Itachi, do you need more of that herb I gave you?”

“No. I have plenty.”

“Good. Tell me when you run out. And watch for side effects, as I told you.”

“I will. Thank you again, Sasori. I appreciate how you’ve gone out of your way for me.”

“Seconded.” Kisame added, “And good luck on that mission of yours. I hear it’s a doozy.”

“I’m not worried,” Deidara said, propping his elbow on his knee and smiling. “What’s another kazekage, right, my man?”

Sasori didn’t say anything, but a slight smile graced his lips and he looked at Deidara with the closest thing to warmth that Itachi has ever seen him give another person. Deidara gave a big grin in return.

“Well, we’ll leave you two to it, then,” Kisame said, headed for the door with the box of injections in hand. Itachi shrugged his cloak on and followed close behind him, “Try not to get into too much trouble.”

“We’d never!” came Deidara’s voice before the door closed.

The workshop was quiet, as usual. It seemed to be slightly emptier than the last time; Sasori must have been packing his puppets away for the upcoming missions. Deidara’s half of the shop looked different every time Itachi saw it. No sculpture stayed for long.

“Are they always like that?” Kisame laughed.

“I suppose so,” Itachi answered honestly.

******

Pein’s call came as a surprise. Itachi and Kisame had been walking back to the compound after a short bounty mission, their pace slow and leisurely while Kisame told stories about Kirigakure. Pein’s needle-sharp chakra suddenly shot through their rings, and Itachi placed a disorientation genjutsu around himself and his partner to keep them both safe as their minds were transferred into holograms many, many miles away.

Kakuzu, his arms crossed tightly across his chest, stood near Hidan. Konan was still as a statue beside Pein, and Zetsu stood slightly behind them. Kisame and Itachi took their places in the circle as Deidara flickered in, alone.

“Let’s begin.” said Pein.

“Not yet,” Deidara interrupted, his blue eyes seeming brighter in the holograph, “My man Sasori isn’t here. We split to take on two groups of Leaf shinobi, I don’t know where he’s at.”

“He will not be joining us.”

Itachi saw Deidara’s eyes narrow as he took a step towards Pein, breaking the circle. The tension in the air was heavy. Kisame frowned behind his collar.

“Sasori of the Red Sand is dead.”

Deidara went still. Even his breathing seemed to halt. 

Konan began, “Deidara--”

“Bullshit. I was with him three hours ago. Sasori’s alive.”

“I saw it myself,” Zetsu took a hesitant step towards Deidara, but stayed behind the protective wall of Pein and Konan. Deidara’s eyes darted to him.

“No, Zetsu, you don’t know him,” Deidara said, his words coming so fast that he nearly slurred, “He’s-- He’s a puppet, okay? He’s a puppet, and the only part that matters is the circular piece in his chest. I know he probably looked dead--”

“The circular piece in his chest,” Zetsu said quietly, “was pierced twice.”

“It-- what?!” his voice cracked at the end of the phrase, “It was an old lady and some airhead! There’s absolutely no way--”

“I’m sorry, Deidara,” Konan said as gently as she could, but Deidara barely seemed to register the words. He didn’t even bother to make eye contact with her.

“I have a replacement in mind,” came Pein’s voice, as firm and objective as always.

“Don’t _fucking_ talk to me about replacements! I--”

Silence. Deidara, no longer focused enough to maintain the hologram, flickered out of the meeting like a candle. 

“Let us mourn Sasori in silence.” Pein said, “I will bring news of the replacement shortly. Until then, dismissed.”

******

The amikacin had been working. It seemed to dull the pain in Itachi’s chest to the point where he only noticed it when it he was coughing, which also allowed him to sleep better and even improved his appetite. It was worth the minimal side effects; a slight tingling in his hands for a few hours after the injection and the occasional morning nausea. 

Yet, the cough lingered. And it was getting bloodier.

Once his two month supply of amikacin injections ran out, he tried to go without. He lasted two days before the constant, aching pain in his chest returned, and each painful breath told him that he needed to ask Kakuzu for more, even if Sasori wasn’t there to make the order.

When it arrived, Kakuzu informed him that it was being stored in the clinic. Itachi knew better than to enter the workshop without Deidara’s permission, so he arranged to meet up with him when they both had some downtime. 

Sasori’s half of the workshop looked just as the same as he left it. Unfinished puppets hung from the ceiling, carving tools were laid on the desk, atop blueprints and sketches, and a number of anatomical miniatures littered the shelves. Only the light layering of dust gave away that the space was no longer occupied.

Deidara’s wing was overloaded with statues. Itachi had never seen it so crowded.

Itachi took careful steps towards the clinic, his footsteps echoing through the room, and opened the door. There, sitting on the bed, was Deidara. He was dressed in his usual leisurely clothes, clay pouches at his waist, eyes tired and half-lidded. Around him, the clinic was torn to pieces. Old, bloody bandages littered the bed, books were stacked haphazardly on the desk and floor, and a visible layer of dust made the space unsanitary. 

“Deidara,” Itachi greeted.

Deidara hopped off the bed and headed over to a shelf stacked with boxes. “Amikacin or whatever, right?” His tone was far short of kind.

“Yes.”

“Surprised I’ve been paying that much attention?”

“No.”

“Hm.” Deidara pulled out the familiar box of amikacin. He stilled, looking down at the box in his hands, and asked, “Has it been working?”

“It has. Albeit minimally.”

“Whatever. Unfortunately for you, it’s all we have. It’ll have to do.” Deidara pushed the box into Itachi’s arms, and turned again to the bookshelf, “I ordered more of that visual herb for myself. There’s extra for you if you think it’s been doing any good.” 

“I’ll take some, if you don’t mind.”

“I frankly don’t.”

Deidara grabbed the smaller box of herbs, and, without bothering to blow the dust off of it, gave it to Itachi. There were quite a few identical boxes there; clearly, visual health was very important to Deidara. Made sense, considering his fighting style. 

“Great.” Deidara deadpanned, “Now get out.”

“I-- Deidara,” Itachi tried to look as humble as he possibly could, “I wanted to give my condolences about Sasori. I know the two of you were very close.”

“Get the fuck out of my workshop.”

Itachi sighed and debated with himself over whether or not he should push the topic. He decided against it, and left without another word. 

******

_“I don’t suspect I can reverse the effects of the sharingan, but perhaps I can buy you some time. That box has some herbs you can put in your tea. I see that you caught the pill case without much trouble, so you must be nearsighted. That herb is supposed to help with distance vision. I keep a steady supply for Deidara.”_

The herb tasted bitter and tingled a little. Itachi wondered how much good it could even do, especially because he had no way of tracking or even qualifying the deterioration of his vision. It eventually got to a point where he could no longer see facial features; he saw only skin colors and perhaps the shadows around a person’s eyes. 

He was grateful to have retained his ability to see color. Perhaps the herb has done at least that much for him.

“What’s on your mind?” Kisame asked as he sat beside Itachi on his motel bed. Itachi’s morning tea was still too hot to drink, and its steam disappeared somewhere in the dust-ridden air.

_“He’s terrible in the mornings. He sounds like he’s ill before tea and breakfast. Still moves like the dead until another 2 hours later.”_

“Nothing at all,” Itachi answered.


End file.
